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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721446">through no fault</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrxbble/pseuds/scrxbble'>scrxbble</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Not Another D&amp;D Podcast (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hot Boys Summer, for nicki, from the twitter challenge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:02:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrxbble/pseuds/scrxbble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>22: things you said after it was over</p><p>or nicki makes me be sad about hot boys summer for a twitter writing thing</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>through no fault</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hot boys summer is all about positivity and this is an affront to that and i am sorry</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They don’t text as much, anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the beginning, right after, it was a constant stream of forgotten pictures and daily updates and “remember when Mac made that awesome ale?” It was easy for Mavrus to ignore his schoolwork when there was always a new video that Dave had taken while blacked out. As the year went on, though, they got busier, and quieter - Mavrus with finding new ways to skip class, Mac with his brewing and his dad’s company, Tred with his music, Dave with his new ultimate frisbee team. He claimed they weren’t as close as the Raw Five had been. His speaking stone posts said otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone would text, every so often: when something reminded them of an old inside joke or when there was an anniversary or when there was a long enough dry spell, but the time between them got longer and the texts got shorter. Where there had been a bridge now stood a chasm, filled with empty beer cans and beach sand and unsent </span>
  <em>
    <span>How are you guys doing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>These days, the phones are silent. But Mavrus walks along the tree-lined walkways of the university, watches a squirrel pick a fight with a bird over a dropped french fry, smiles as he remembers Mac having a similar tussle with a seagull for much too long. Mac schedules a band to play Friday night at his bar and the drummer is wearing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll Be Tred If You Nevers Try</span>
  </em>
  <span> shirt. Tred hums chords and tries to write lyrics and almost wishes that someone was interrupting him to come play Ultimate so he could ignore the writers’ block. Dave fries bacon for his partner in the morning and can’t seem to get it to the perfect level of crispy like Mac can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't have a reason - he shouldn't need one. Even so, Mavrus still feels that pit in his stomach as he types out a message, erases it, types it out again, wondering if they would read it, if they would bother replying. There is so much more he wants to say, so much that he can’t encapsulate: hazy memories of the bright sunlight and the quiet buzz of the living room lamp, chicken fights at high tide, cycling through each other as the object of antagonism that day. But he types out one sentence and figures it’s a start</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have a reason - he shouldn’t need one. Hell, Mac is sure that Tred knows how adored he is, how beloved his songs are - he doesn’t need an old friend telling him that. But he pulls out his speaking stone and scrolls down to a group chat, types out a message, hesitates. It doesn’t say everything he wants it to say - that he’s sorry for being so sensitive back then, that he loved - </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves </span>
  </em>
  <span>- them because they never needed that apology, that they should rent another beach house someday. But he types out one sentence and decides it says enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have a reason - he shouldn’t need one. His words are escaping him now just as they did when he was writing his lyrics, because Tred couldn’t figure out how to say “that was the best summer of my life” without sounding cheesy and dumb and twenty-four again. But he types out one sentence and hopes they’ll understand it means more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have a reason - he shouldn’t need one. Dave only has a few minutes to finish plating this meal before his boyfriend wakes up, anyways. But he pauses, turns off the stove, considers how to encompass two years of history into one short text. He doesn’t think it’s possible to summarize, and he doesn’t think that the boys are the type who would need that summary anyway. He types out one sentence and presses send.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In four-part harmony, it arrives.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you fuckers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thinking about you guys - I miss you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Missing you guys today.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, guys, I miss you!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and they all kept texting and renting beach houses forever goodbye!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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